Still feeling, feeling still, stings
– I feel the pain draining through
acts.

Shall I compare you to a summer’s day,
you should, but I need to go away
too soon to listen, too far back to stay,
the only thing I want to live for is today.

Each of them looks alike
not a critique of pure dishonesty
but I attempt to see whom I’d like
to see.
Scraping leaves – hello
I say. Is it you?
Tourists? I’ve been one
back in the day,
when beer was cheaper than food. And now
I travel around the house, tomorrow
I’ll be sitting in a better place.

Hunger doesn’t leave me,
it makes me write, and then
it scares me with dyslexia.

Alas, I want to eat, yet I don’t,
I’m no use fat nor skinny. The only want
of me is me.

Thersites was my friend, the best,
he gave me a helmet with a crest,
“Put it on and walk around”
he said, “falling to the ground
you’ll see the chicks.”
I’m done with this,
to hear the switches, to hear the mis-
sing of a name.